


Things you said at the kitchen table

by owlsshadows



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, dumb sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5026165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlsshadows/pseuds/owlsshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is a matter of life or death between Aomine and Kagami. Every game is a battle, and one point difference means the world. So... who wins? Dumb AoKaga drabble fic written for Sylias on Tumblr (check her blog out, it's like a small peaceful paradise) for the prompt "things you said at the kitchen table"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things you said at the kitchen table

**Author's Note:**

> First before you read it, I’d like to tell you that writing someone’s OTP for them is so stressful! Gwaaah… well. It turned out longer than planned :D

What come after the rain are two wet kids fighting at the doorframe struggling their way in over each other. Arms, legs, elbows stick out in each other’s way; Kagami pushes, where Aomine pulls.

It’s not that they do this every day. There are pretty harmonious days when Kagami wakes up and finds his favourite cereal untouched, days when Aomine’s shoes are not ‘penetrated by the stinky feet of Kagami’ only because the redhead forgot his best pair at the dressing room of the gym. On other days they wouldn’t have serious duels in a heavy rainstorm… or maybe they would do. They are, after all, Kagami and Aomine we speak about.

Not that they could solve problems in any other way. Not that they know any other way. One basket, one ball, two raging kids fighting head on. This is ‘them’.

Kagami sticks a hand in between Aomine’s ribs knowing full well just how ticklish the tough guy from Too Academy really is. The blue haired yelps in a ridiculously low voice for a squeak and bends on instinct to evade any further attacks.

A smug smirk appears on Kagami’s lips as he slips through the door and enters the kitchen.

‘My win. You wash the dishes’, he says turning back.

Aomine still stands at the doorsill, diminished.

The scene of the two of them, drenched in rain and sweat is not an unfamiliar sight to the very walls of this kitchen, not to the sink or the cupboards. The kettle, new and shiny, might not remember their first encounter in this very room; however the fridge, old and noisy, is always ready to share some tales.

The tale the kettle hears as it passes the fridge in the hands of the blue haired boy is told in a language only household appliances would understand: a short, rusty hum from the fridge, a solid, slightly squeaky noise from the rice cooker, the happy gurgle the tap emits as it spits water all over the sink.

It’s a story of two boys, immature and rowdy. Competitive, fierce and headstrong. Stubborn.

Utterly foolish.

It starts back in the days when Aomine still had the habit of casually saying ‘the only one who can beat me is me’, but was already defeated by Seirin. On one of those days, his motivation to win over Kagami grew to the point when he actually appeared at the doorstep of the redhead.

‘Play’, he ordered, pushing a ball into the hands of a somewhat confused Kagami. ‘You and me. Outside.’

‘Call’, replied the other. He had hardly any idea about the reason he was asked out to play, but Kagami never said no to anything that had even the slightest connection to basketball.

Their matches always had a tendency to be overdramatic and supernatural. They took their duels seriously and they fought for the death… well, even if they were not the ones to ‘die’, several pairs of shoes, a bunch of balls, a basketball ring and an entirely innocent community bench certainly did fall victim of their warfare. They took rivalry to an completely new level.

Well, they could’ve finish that game back then when the first raindrops tainted the red of the street basketball court.

They could’ve stop when their feet got so slippery they were unable to run.

They should’ve stopped when a lightning had stricken in the tree right next to them.

But they were at a stalemate.

And they still are, up until today.

Their duels start the second one of them opens their eyes first and end the minute they fall asleep, dead tired, splayed over the sofa or even the floor. Their score is kept in a notebook by the fridge, and it’s tidier than anything else they’ve ever done.

They are never ahead of each other for more than 5 points.

Two drenched kids waiting eagerly by the kettle for the water to boil to drink something warm after a downpour, towels messily thrown on their shoulders.

Back in the days that now seem like history, it was a policeman who hushed them into the house from the typhoon roaming through the city. Their score was not settled, Kagami only one point ahead of Aomine.

Yet, when they entered the room and Kagami led Aomine to one of the chairs in the kitchen, placing the old – now replaced – kettle on the gas to brew some tea for his unusual guest, Aomine opened his mouth, and between two heavy scratches of his towel on his hair, he muttered:

‘No wonder… the only one who can beat me is you.’

The redhead looked up from the box of cheap tea he was examining, brows furrowed in confusion.

Kagami was not good at the thing called thinking and he was not patient enough to use deduction to eliminate unlikely possibilities so he even though he did muse over the other’s offbeat confession for a second or two, he didn’t contemplate for long.

‘And the only one who can beat me is you’, he said with a short nod to himself pouring hot water on the tea filters.

It might’ve happened years, months, even only weeks ago. The fridge has a bad perception of time, so it is not sure either.

‘I wash the dishes but you cook’, bargains Aomine startling the fridge deep in thought.

‘Naturally’, Kagami answers. ‘No more of your charcoal.’

‘It was an omelette.’

‘Charcoal.’

‘It happened once.’

‘You burnt down one of my finest pans.’

‘Shut up and cook. I’m starving.’

Like anything would change anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn’t have it beta read with anyone so I hope it turned out fine…


End file.
